It's among the best-prepared countries when it comes to disaster, and for good reason. Japan has played host to some of history's worst calamities: the 100-foot tsunami that killed 27,000 people in 1896, the 1995 Kobe earthquake and the atomic bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima during World War II.
Who could have known that the March 11 quake -- at 9.0 magnitude, the most violent to ever shake the island nation -- could potentially combine these catastrophes into one, leaving 126 million people struggling to anticipate the next temblor, rush of seawater or burst of radiation into the atmosphere?
Many were thinking about their weekend, watching the clock at work when the ground began to shake at 2:46 p.m. It wasn't a quick fit like many past quakes. This one lasted about five minutes -- an eternity to those on the ground.
As the tsunami warnings rang out, the nation seemed cool, unfazed even. And why not? Tsunami warnings were old hat. There had been one just two days earlier, and the massive quake that rocked Chile about a year ago had set off the same threats.
This quake was different, though, and would test the nation's mettle in new ways. Not only was it Japan's worst quake ever, but six aftershocks -- all at least 6.3 magnitude and one 7.1 -- rocked the coast over the next hour as a 30-foot wall of ocean rushed to the coast at 500 mph.
The first images were terrifying, like something from a science fiction film. An indiscriminate and all-consuming blob of seawater moved at a frightening clip across rice plots toward homes and businesses in Sendai.
Cars and boats, including a massive cargo ship, were picked up as if they were children's toys. Cars bobbed in the water like apples. Boats were crushed under bridges. Homes were reduced to rubble. A few were on fire as the blob carried them into highways and other structures.
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